


something left of you

by elliesbicep



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enjoy!, Established Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Gen, Hank Anderson Adopts Connor, Hank Anderson and Connor are Family, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by The Last of Us (Video Games), M/M, Protective Hank Anderson, These poor boys, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, also hank loves north like a daughter & you can't convince me otherwise, also slight tw for hurt animals, and i love whumping connor, and it's in the context of an apocalypse fic, as in sumo appears briefly and doesn't make it, but there are no graphic descriptions, markus loves connor, no deliberate neglect/abuse or anything of that sort, okay i think that's all folks, that's only background but hey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26042074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliesbicep/pseuds/elliesbicep
Summary: They’d had one year.It wasn’t long enough, but then, nothing ever could be.(the one where connor’s infected.)
Relationships: Connor & Josh & Markus & North & Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Connor & Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 22
Kudos: 63





	something left of you

**Author's Note:**

> written for this anon on tumblr:
> 
> _Basically I love the idea of mid-zombie-apocalypse RK1K (probably human au?) where Connor ends up getting bit and Markus has to decide whether to let him turn. I'm thinking super super angsty too. Thoughts?_
> 
>   
> i'm halfway through TLOU2 and very emotional about it, so this prompt hit hard. this is my first fic in a LONG time so please let me know what you think! any and all feedback is super welcome, but especially any ideas about where to go with the ending would be much appreciated. hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> ps - it's mentioned in the tags, but just to reiterate, this fic contains depictions of an animal being hurt & descriptions of an injury. no explicit violence and nothing particularly graphic, especially not with the animal injury, but be safe if any of that is content you're not comfortable reading! 
> 
> \--

“Okay, assholes, listen up. We’ve got a problem.”

“Jesus, North, I said I was sorry,” Hank groaned, sprawled across a long since rotted-through armchair that sagged halfway to the ground under his bulk. Behind him, Simon and Josh were already rolling their eyes, Simon seated at the kitchen bench and Josh standing over it as he catalogued the contents of their first aid kit. “I maintain that some dead guy’s DS from thirty years ago is not a fuckin’ smart choice for you to get emotionally attached to, but I’ll get you replacement batteries next time we go looting, alright? Cross my heart.”

He was grinning at her, but North only shot a glare in his direction and snapped, “Did the goddamn apocalypse close up shop when I wasn’t looking? I said we have a fucking problem.”

Hank blanched, rising from his chair in a motion that looked to Markus more like reflex than any conscious decision to move. Simon reached over the bench to deftly close the first aid kit with one hand and grab Josh’s wrist with the other, flashing him a sober look and jerking his head at North.

“What kind of a problem, kid?” Hank said, none of the usual dry mirth in his voice; he suddenly sounded flatter, somehow toneless. For all the brusqueness she'd stormed in with, North was faltering. Eyes trained intently on something in the vicinity of Hank’s boots, she shifted her weight back and forth as she struggled to make her mouth form around the contours of a word, a sentence, an explanation. There was a sinking feeling in Markus’ stomach, and he realised he already knew what she was going to say, what the shape she was looking for would sound like when she found it.

For a small instant, he hoped that would make it easier. Knowing. Being able to prepare, to brace himself. And then behind North, Connor began to move, and Markus realised it would not.

Wordlessly, his gaze fixed dully on the ground, Connor raised his left hand. He’d made a fist with it, tightly closed, and now Markus stared at Connor’s slender fingers as they slowly unfurled from his palm. He held his arm out to his side, elbow crooked up at an angle like one side of some apathetic surrender. Markus’ stomach lurched horribly, and he felt a strange buzzing wrongness settle thickly in his mouth; it hissed there like static on an old television, white noise humming in his jaw, churning down the hollow of his throat. He tried to swallow. Couldn’t.

The silence soured as it lingered around them. Hand still held steadily aloft, Connor let the sleeve of his jacket ride up past his wrist – it always did that, the fraying old thing was easily twice his size and long since worn down to tatters, but Hank had loaned it to Connor when the infection had first hit Detroit and two years later Markus still couldn’t bring himself to suggest they find Connor a new one – and Connor’s sleeve had slipped all the way down to his elbow, and his hand was starting to shake, and there was a fucking bite mark across his forearm, the bruised skin there mottled with red and violet and green, dark blood congealed where the teeth had sunk into flesh. Dried flecks of it were smeared all across the inside of his wrist, too. Connor hadn’t even bothered to clean it – there was no point.

Distantly, he heard someone make a strangled noise. Then North was giving him that same sharp look, and he realised it had been him.

Behind him, Hank punched something. “God fucking _dammit_ , Connor!”

“When?” Markus forced himself to speak, but Connor wasn’t looking at him. North answered instead.

“On the last drop. At the docks.”

“That was two days ago!” Simon protested, and North only raised her eyebrows, a tendon pulsing in her jaw. “You knew? This whole time?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, rounding on Connor instead. “You didn’t think this was worth telling the rest of us? Did you even stop to think about Hank?”

“Of course I thought about Hank.” There was no fight behind the words; Connor’s voice was all patience and guilt, and he looked tired. The room felt like it was spinning. “I thought about all of you, the second it happened, Simon. I just couldn’t tell you yet. Not until I knew for sure that it was over.”

“It’s not over,” Simon protested weakly, and Connor just tilted his head, raising his eyebrows. Markus noticed dimly that Simon was still holding Josh’s wrist, squeezing so hard his knuckles were flushed white, and Josh was letting him. He wanted to agree with Simon, knew he needed to say something, but the white noise had spread to the back of his head now, crackling and pulsing in his ears. 

“What if we just– fuckin’ wait?” Hank was saying, the extra gruffness in his voice telling. “Give it a couple more days–”

“We already tried waiting, Anderson, he’s not immune.” North had managed to speak again, but only by snapping the words out with such force that she was almost spitting them. “You think that’s not the first fucking thing I thought of?”

“Yeah, I know, but we could let him turn. Then he– goddamn thing wouldn’t be him anymore. Wouldn’t be him that we– ah, fuckin’ Jesus Christ. You know what I mean.”

North opened her mouth, but it was Connor that spoke first, his voice so dangerously quiet. “No. You can’t risk having me around once the infection hits. Even considering the cognitive effects, you know not everything goes, not at first. Without control of myself, I– I could really, really hurt you.” He paused to take a small breath in, shakily, and Markus felt a fault line score itself into the soft, exposed muscle tissue of his heart. “It’s too dangerous, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ ‘Lieutenant’ me, kid, it’s been two damn years and you know it. I will not hesitate to hit you with ‘Detective Anderson’.”

Connor smiled a little, eyes lighting up again for a few shining seconds. “I don’t mind that so much.”

“Okay, fuck off, _Detective_. Nobody’s shooting you, son, it’s not up for discussion — and before you start, I don’t wanna hear it, so you can just go right ahead and stop again.”

“Hank. What would you want? If you were in my place?”

“I’d want the crabby old man looking out for me to never have let me get my fuckin’ dumb twinky idiot ass bit in the first place–”

“Hank, please.”

“You’re gonna make me let you do this, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Fine. Then– then if it has to be someone, I can do it. I’m not gonna lie, I don’t want to, Con. But if you’d feel safest with me, we can do it like that. I’ll be alright.”

“Hank–” Simon began to object, but the rest of whatever he had to say was drowned out by North.

“Shut the fuck up, Anderson. This would destroy you, and you know it. Don’t even think about arguing with me, old man, this is exactly why Connor didn’t tell you in the first place.”

From the same position beside the kitchen bench where he’d been standing motionless since Simon had put away the first aid kid and grabbed his hand, Josh whispered, “I’m sorry, Connor. I don’t think I could.”

Connor took a few steps and crossed the small room to reach out a hand for Josh’s shoulder, squeeze it gently. “I know. I’d never ask you to. It’s– you don’t owe me this, Josh. None of you do.”

“I can do it, if you’d feel more comfortable with that. No offence, North.” Simon sounded impressively firm, his resolve clearly genuine, even if Markus knew him too well to believe that Simon could follow through on the offer. From the heartbroken smile that crossed his face, Connor knew better, too.

“Thank you, Simon. But seriously, it’s alright. I think North–”

Markus wanted to grab him by the shoulders and slam him against the wall and yell hot and harsh into his face until the resignation in those soft, dark eyes gave way to something else, anything but the flat calm. He wanted to punch him. He felt like he’d been punched. He wanted to reach for Connor, wanted to touch his face, wanted to let his fingers brush gently across his cheek and trace the sharp line of his jaw.

He wanted to say, don’t do this to me. Please don’t do this to me, I can’t. Not this. Not you.

Instead, he said, “Do you want it to be me?”

It was his own voice, but it rang oddly in his ears, distant. The sound was low, scarcely more than a breath. Connor stilled, but didn’t turn around.

“Connor?” That sounded more like him, but he wasn’t sure that was a good thing; as he crossed from the first syllable of Connor’s name to the second, Markus could feel his voice threatening to break, and he knew the others could hear it. There was a beat, and then Connor finally moved. He raised his head slowly, angling his body to face Markus with a little less than his customary grace, but when he finally met Markus’ eyes his gaze was soft and steady, his jaw set in a determined line. Markus tried to explain himself, elaborate somehow, but his eyes fell on that bruised bleeding bite mark again and all he managed was a clumsy repetition. “I– do you want it to be me?”

Connor tilted his head slightly, brown-sugar curls tumbling down over his eyes. Markus knew full well that the innocent gesture masked the concerned furrow of Connor’s brow, creasing with the intensity of the searching gaze Markus was currently subject to. It felt like an interrogation. Might as well have been one. He did his best not to writhe, aware that it’d only take the lightest suggestion of some sort of doubt for Connor to refuse, insist North or poor fucking Hank be the one to do it– or worse, Connor himself, laying down and waiting for the end alone. Markus wouldn’t let it be like that. Not for anything.

He forced himself to meet Connor’s eyes without flinching, willing him to see, to understand that this was okay. That he would do this for Connor, because this was the only thing he could still do. And after a moment that lasted a small eternity, Connor seemed to realise that. His shoulders slumped slightly, and he let out a tiny breath, gave a near imperceptible nod. When he finally spoke, there was a strangeness in his voice; Markus felt his heart breaking as he realised it was shame. “Yeah. I do. But not if–”

Connor didn’t so much trail off as cut out mid-sentence, like he’d been winded. Still, he made no move to say more. They both knew Markus didn’t need the rest spoken aloud to hear the words clear as anything.

_Not if it’ll take too much. Needs to be something left of you._

It was what Markus had said to Connor something like a year ago, maybe a little more than that now, when Sumo had got hurt too bad to shake it off like the big lump usually did, and Hank had asked Connor to do right by the dying dog. Markus had stumbled into the kitchen of the old student housing they’d holed up in too late to realise it was a bad time, Connor kneeling on the floor, wracked with sobs that shook his whole frame as he tried to aim steadily at Sumo’s head with one hand, his other stroking the whimpering dog behind his floppy ears. His friend – North’s friend, really, at the time – hadn’t looked up as he’d entered, barely even moved, had just whispered hoarsely in Markus’ general direction, “It’s better if I kill him.”

“Yeah,” Markus had agreed, determinedly not stopping to try and line up the only Connor he'd known back then – new to Jericho, their resident killing machine, with a good heart somewhere in there that he saved for special occasions and Hank Anderson – with this Connor in the kitchen, bright-eyed and crying on his knees on the rotting wood floorboards. “He’s in pain. And he’s here with you.”

“And he knows I love him.”

“And he knows you love him,” Markus had repeated, with all the gentle compassion he could still find in himself these days.

Connor had nodded to himself slowly, and then he’d finally looked at Markus, and his dark eyes were encircled by angry, bruising red. “Do you think I should?”

Holding Connor’s gaze now that he’d been entrusted with it, Markus had inclined his head, solemn and sincere. “I do.” Connor trembled harder. That hadn’t escaped Markus’ notice, and he’d suppressed a wince as a shudder hunched Connor’s shoulders, jostling the gun in his hand. Taking a breath, he’d fixed Connor with his most intent expression and pressed, “But not if it’ll take too much. Needs to be something left of you.”

Connor had taken the shot, in the end. He did it quickly and cleanly, clutching desperately at Sumo and sobbing into his fur as the dog went still and holding on for hours after that. Markus had sat beside Connor with an arm around his shoulder, not so much comforting him as offering him an anchor, a warm and tangible thing to keep him grounded. They sat there for a long time, neither of them really sure how long, and eventually Connor let his head fall against Markus’ shoulder; Markus felt a damp heat seeping over his collarbone and had realised then that Connor was still crying, the lingering tears coming slower now as they stained the fabric beneath his cheek.

Another unknowable length of time later, Connor had said softly, “Sorry I ruined your shirt.” He was blinking guiltily up at Markus from under those long, dark eyelashes, and Markus had wanted so badly to kiss him, and then he’d felt like a fucking asshole because this guy’s dog had just died in his arms, and then he felt like he was losing his mind, because this was Connor and Connor wasn’t supposed to be like this. Connor had looked out the window, had seen the sun rising, and said, “Shit. And your night.”

Then a year had passed, and standing in a different kitchen in a different house in a different city, Markus thought bitterly, I wanted so much longer than that.

Connor was still looking up at him, brown eyes soft and sad again now that he’d finished scrutinising Markus’ face. His own features were hard to read, but somewhere beneath the even calm of his expression – god, he looked so fucking scared. His face was pale, the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks standing starkly against the ashy grey of his skin. There was still a little matted blood in his hair.

They’d had one year. It wasn’t long enough, but then, nothing ever could be.

Markus’ voice was threatening to catch in his throat, but he refused to let it. “Connor, sweetheart, just– c’mere, you idiot.”

**Author's Note:**

> ... rip concon man lol
> 
>   
> hey! thanks a lot for reading! honestly i'm not really sure where to go from here, but if you enjoyed this, please please take a sec to hit the lil kudos button or consider leaving a comment - BOY am i a praise goblin! really though it means the world to me, and i appreciate it so much.
> 
> also come vibe with me on tumblr if you like! i'm @ellies-bicep (my main) or @rk1kdotcom (dbh acc) and i'm SUPER cool. like just the coolest. like i cannot overstate how cool i-


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